


Butterfly Poetry

by lasagna_for_one



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: College era, Foolishness, M/M, Poetry, farcical circumstances, internalized homophobia i guess, its not very serious though, pratfalls and misunderstandings, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasagna_for_one/pseuds/lasagna_for_one
Summary: Pete meets someone at a party who seems to be up to the same thing as him: he is wrong(Titles! Kill me please)





	Butterfly Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> So like tumblruser mistahgrundy drew this: https://mistahgrundy.tumblr.com/post/168803020621/spare-parts-in-space-im-your-venture-secret for the venture bros christmas exchange thing this past year and I started writing this around then, forgot about it for about 6 months, reread the part I wrote and was like "man. i should finish this" so I did, but then I was like, still nervous about posting it and didn't, but now I am. Anyway. Good.... author's note

It was a party. A shitty party. The basement they had crammed into had low, acoustic tile ceilings and a cracked laminate floor; the keg had been lazily placed in a corner sans refrigeration and hence, the cheap beer therein had gotten warm before the party even began. There were snacks-- two bowls of chips (potato and corn, respectively) but no dip, and an inexplicable box of saltines. Rusty was across the room, trying his “moves” on some girl who was drunk enough that he might actually lose his virginity tonight, and Pete was sitting on a threadbare and deflated floral couch, nodding off. Even the music was bad. Who the hell wanted to listen to Chicago V in this day and age? Or ever, for that matter. 

Pete was roused from his sleepiness as the weight of another person creaked onto the couch. He looked over to see a redheaded Ramone clone, hands in his pockets, eyes shifty. And those eyebrows-- what the fuck? He looked incredibly angry. 

“Uh, hello,” Pete said.

The stranger was completely silent, his eyes fixed on something across the room. Pete followed his eyes-- was he... was he staring at Rusty? Maybe he was looking at the girl.

Pete tried again. “Hey.”

“Huh?” the stranger finally responded, turning to look at him briefly before fixing his eyes again, “Oh, hi.”

“Lousy party, huh?” 

“Mm? Oh, yeah, it totally sucks.”

“Right?” Saturday in the Park came on. Pete rolled his eyes. “God, this fucking song. Even when I was a kid, I knew it sucked.”

The stranger laughed. “Yeah, but I love how dramatic that one line is-- wait-- here it comes--” he removed a hand from his pocket momentarily, balling it into a fist and shaking it in the air, and then, along with the song, said, “‘A man selling ice cream’!”

Pete chuckled. “You’re right, so ridiculous. You delivered that like a-- like a supervillain though.”

“Hah! I wish... maybe some day,” the stranger said. He turned to Pete, his eyebrows shooting up as he really saw him. “Well, uh, you look like a supervillain.”

“Nah, you’re flattering me.”

“No way, you are totally sinister looking, like-- what’s with your hair? Red eyes, too? What are those, contact lenses? Interesting choice of aesthetics.”

“No, no, I was born like this-- I’m an albino,” Pete said, at this point in his life, proud of that fact.

“Oh, cool!” the stranger replied. “Yeah, I don’t have anything too exciting going on-- oh! Except that I was raised by butterflies!”

Pete blinked. What the hell did that mean? “Okay. Sounds... cool.”

“Yeah, it was awesome. I love butterflies... they’re so cool.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Pete shrugged, but mostly, he didn’t really want to argue with that. He raised his plastic cup, half-filled with lukewarm Miller. “To butterflies! Oh shit, wait, you don’t have a drink-- let me get you a drink--”

“No, no, I have to stay sharp tonight.”

“Come on, if you have to be at a shitty party, you might as well have some free shitty beer.” Pete stood, crossing to the keg and filling up a second cup, then refreshing his own. He foisted the cup into the stranger’s hand. “My name is Pete, by the way.”

The stranger looked at the cup and took a sip, grimacing. “Uh, my name is Malcolm. God, that’s awful.”

“Nice to meet you, Malcolm,” Pete said, finally sitting down. “So, what brings you here tonight? Someone you’re trying to bang?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes!” Malcolm said, excited, before breaking into a menacing chuckle, hand on his chin as he gazed off at nothing in particular. “Though, perhaps not in the way you would assume.”

Pete was curious and confused by this phrasing. “Who?”

“You’re not gonna like,” he looked shifty again, “rat me out right?” 

Pete laughed. “To who?”

“Anyone! My machinations must be kept secret! Except to those who are trustworthy.” 

Pete threw up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Spill the beans.”

Malcolm nodded at Rusty. “Him.”

“Him?” Pete pointed at Rusty, incredulous.

“Don’t point! You’ll draw attention,” Malcolm whispered, slapping his arm down.

“Sorry, but-- Seriously? Because, I won’t lie to you, me too,” Pete took a sip of his beer. “I mean-- hey, you can’t tell anyone either, y’know.”

Malcolm looked shocked, but relieved. “Holy shit, really?”

“Yeah, I mean-- I don’t think I have a chance, but-- really, you too?”

“Man, that is crazy. I guess he just inspires that kind of a feeling, doesn’t he?”

“He does! It’s weird. You know, his personality, his voice, his face-- I don’t know what it is, but he drives me crazy.” 

“Tell me about it!” Malcolm laughed. “God, we have class together, and--”

“Wait, wait-- you’re the butterfly guy, right?”

“What?”

“Rust mentioned there was some guy in his writing class who writes about butterflies. That’s you, right?”

“He mentioned me?” Malcolm looked flattered. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah-- uh, it wasn’t exactly... nice, though.”

“Of course not. Oh, I’m such a fool,” Malcolm buried his head in his hands. He shot back up. “Wait a minute-- you-- are you friends with him?”

“Yeah, I guess-- I dunno. Maybe best friends, even?”

Malcolm stroked his chin again. “Hmmm... Very Machiavellian of you.”

Pete laughed. “I guess! Never really thought about it that way.”

Malcolm drank deep from the cup and turned to him, smiling. “We should team up!”

“Er, uh,” Pete said, “in what regard?”

“You know, you help me, I help you, maybe we could... you know. Figure something out, together?” Malcolm smiled, awkwardly, revealing a set of incredibly crooked teeth. “Because-- I won’t lie to you, I don’t really, uh, have much of a plan tonight.”

“Uh,” Pete stared at the man before him, his face desperate. “Yeah, you know what? Sure. May the best man win.” He stuck his hand out.

Malcolm shook it. He then looked around. “Hey, um-- where’d he go?”

Pete scanned the room. The girl Rusty had been talking to was still there, but Rusty himself was nowhere in sight. “Did he-- he just left? Without saying goodbye to me?”

“It looks like it,” Malcolm scowled.

“God, he is such an asshole,” Pete pouted, resting his chin on his fist.

Malcolm made a sheepish face. “Hey! Don’t look so upset. The night is young! Let us regroup and further plan our deed.”

Pete smiled and shrugged. “Okay!”

“Lets get out of here, though,” he said. “Cuz this party? Sucks.”

“Absolutely, fella.”

They walked in the darkness toward campus, stopping to get beer at a liquor store with a reputation for not carding. Malcolm led Pete to his dorm. He flipped on the lights. There were a perhaps distressing number of posters of monarch butterflies and angry-looking punk musicians.

“You in here alone?” 

“Yeah, psh, I told them I have an anxiety condition and they gave me a single. Sweet, huh?” Malcolm flopped backwards onto his unmade bed, hands folded behind his head. “I don’t really, y’know, ‘like’ other people, so...”

“Here’s to that, fella,” Pete said pulling a beer from the six ring and handing it to Malcolm, taking one for himself and sitting at the foot of the bed. They both took a sip.

“So, what’s your plan?” Malcolm asked.

“Huh? Oh, I dunno...” Pete sighed, looking off, sipping his beer. He’d thought about it a thousand times; truly, he had always hoped Rusty would make the first move. But he’d played out many scenarios, many different ways, so he said, “Y’know, just-- get him alone, tell him how I feel and... make my move.”

“Hm... a little low-key for my tastes. For me, there’s gotta be a lot of pomp and circumstance when it happens. Finally! The deed is done. Everyone must know!” He flailed his arms, face dreamy.

Pete laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re, ah, uh, a lot braver than me... I mean, I’d tell people but, uh-- I’d just be afraid of the repercussions-- society, y’know... not super accepting of this kinda crap.”

“Society? Hah!” Malcolm sat up, grinning like a maniac. “Society will be begging for mercy by the time I’m done! I shall wreak my havoc in the face of their tyranny and create a new world in its place!”

“Wow, I heard about guys like you, but it’s really crazy meeting one,” he smiled. “I’m a little jealous. Maybe someday I’ll be on your level but for now... I’m trying to be low key.”

“Pft, low key? Look at you!”

Pete crossed his arms. “What’re you tryin’ to say, fella?”

Malcolm smirked and closed his eyes. “Please, from the first moment I saw you, I could tell we were in the same boat! It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” He opened his eyes again and gave a look of slight concern. “You, uh, gonna sit down?” He patted the bed.

Pete felt his heart skip a beat. There were chairs around, but he accepted the invitation to sit next to him on the bed. “I don’t know. I don’t to be too obvious cuz like, y’know, what if I’m wrong about myself? What if it turns out that isn’t who I am? I feel like my whole life I’ve been told this is the wrong way to be... a-and it’s not like I’ve ever, y’know... done anything about it before. Maybe I’d actually hate it! Maybe I’ve just worked myself up and convinced myself... y’know, that I’m somebody I’m not...”

Malcolm chuckled. “Oh, I think when you know, you know. Do you think you would even be thinking about it if you didn’t want to do it?”

White smiled. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, fella, it’s nice to talk to somebody who’s, y’know, supportive for a change. I told my mom once and she was all ‘oh, Peter, a lot of people feel that way at your age, you’ll probably change your mind later!’ Really got me down about the whole thing.”

“Parents! What do they know?” Malcolm laid back down. “Sometimes I’m glad my parents are dead... I never even realized how much shame I’ve probably escaped.”

“Oh, jeez, your parents are dead? I’m sorry, fella,” Pete said, awkwardly patting his new friend on the leg. “How’d they die?”

“Plane crash... It was a super duper long time ago, so I’m pretty over it, but still... what a way to go. A blaze of glory! Sort of...” he looked off. “Who I really miss are my surrogate parents... the true family that chose me... A swarm of deadly monarch butterflies! Their beauty, their poison, their wrath-- so inspirational!”

Again with the butterflies, Pete thought. It then occurred to him that this might be a metaphor. Yeah, a metaphor for whatever big group of gay dudes he had met that helped him accept himself and be so open. Yeah! Suddenly, it all made sense. If only he had something like that. “They sound incredible.”

“Oh, they were! So resplendent-- the whole thing was a mystical experience that would change me forever! My only regret was that I could not follow them where they went when they had to leave... one day, mark my words, I will find them again, my true fathers and mothers! My brothers and sisters!” 

“Do you wanna,” Pete licked his lips, “read me one of those poems Rust mentioned?”

“You wanna hear m-my poetry?” Malcolm asked, somewhat frightened. 

“Well, yeah! I’d love to hear about your family. Especially if they inspired you to be so open and-- and okay with yourself and everything. Maybe they’ll inspire me, too!” 

“Oh-- alright! You’ve talked me into it.” Excited, he rolled over, set his beer on the ground and reached down, his thighs pressed to Pete’s back as he groped for something under the bed. He popped back up with a leather-bound notebook and sat cross-legged on the bed. After thumbing through a few pages, he finally settled on one. “Ahem. I call this one ‘In Flight’.”

“Okay.” Pete set his own beer down and turned so he was sitting across from him, legs now also crossed, elbows on knees, fists propping up his face in anticipation. 

“I feel like this one might be super pertinent to you, cuz it sounds like you’re feeling a little like... just an observer, when really what you want to do is act. It’s kinda about that.” Malcolm looked down at the page, cleared his throat again and began: 

“Summer warmth,  
Brilliant light through your gossamer wings,  
I lie in the grass beneath your glory  
Merely watching.  
That is enough for now,  
Just to see you  
Spiraling  
Up, up, up!  
Higher than I can even imagine.  
Higher than I can ever hope!  
I wish to be there with you  
In your flight,  
Knowing what it is to embody your deadly glory;  
To live as you live!  
To dance in the sky with you,  
Twisting ever upward together  
Away from this miserable world  
Into our own heaven  
I chew milkweed and dream  
Of kissing that blue sky with you  
Laying down to sleep on a bed of clouds  
You with me,  
Forever,  
In flight.”

Malcolm looked up, slow and anxious. Pete was attentive, staring, pulled out of his slouching position. “God, Malcolm, that--” he inhaled sharply, overwhelmed, “that was beautiful.”

“Hey, thanks! It’s one of my favorites. I’ve got about a million more like that, but--” He was cut off as Pete darted forward and kissed him, hard, full on the mouth, sloppy. He didn’t resist, opening his mouth to accept his tongue. They broke apart suddenly. Malcolm laughed. “Wow... you really liked that poem, huh?”

Pete adjusted his position from sitting to kneeling. “I-- I wanna fly, too.”

“Okay, well--” Again, he was cut off. Pete’s hands were in his hair, and after an awkward disentanglement of legs, Malcolm was flat on his back with Pete straddling him and grinding against him. “Jeez, you are just, like, super fucking horny, huh?”

Pete bit his lip and grinned sheepishly. “Maybe a little. It’s like you said-- I’m feeling like an observer-- and I wanna-- um, act--” He slid a hand over Malcolm’s chest and down to his crotch, palming his dick through the denim of his jeans. “How ‘bout you? Can I... act with you?”

“Uh, hell yeah, I’m into this, sure,” he replied. He bucked his hips against Pete’s hand. “Have you ever, um...”

“N-no.”

“You wanna try and...?”

“You bet, fella,” Pete scooted back on the bed, frantically unbuckling Malcolm’s belt buckle, undoing the fly on his jeans and yanking them down over his hips. His mouth went a little dry at the sight of the partially hard cock in front of him. Sure, he’d thought about sucking dick plenty of times, but now that it was in right in front of him, his excitement was replaced with anxiety. What if he was bad at it? What if his braces got caught on his pubes or something? What if he got surprised by something and accidentally bit down on his dick? These were all very real dangers. He licked his lips. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least if he was really bad at it, he’d find out now and not if or when he was sucking Rusty’s dick. He reached out and took Malcolm’s cock in his hand, stroking it gently. He marveled as it twitched and hardened up. He looked up at Malcolm, who was staring at him, transfixed, inhaling deeply through his nose. Without breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head. 

The cock was salty, and he wanted to taste more of it, so he pushed his head down further, sliding his tongue along the shaft. Malcolm’s eyes fluttered shut and he groaned. “Whoa, god--”

Emboldened, Pete bobbed his head up and down, sucking and licking, stroking the part of the shaft not in his mouth with his hand. He rolled his tongue over the head, pressed it against the slit, and bobbed back down again, further this time, exploring every inch of the flesh, enjoying every pleasured sound and twitch that came from his ministrations. He drew back finally, still stroking, inhaling deeply, a cheeky grin on his face. “You like that?”

“Holy moley, dude,” Malcolm breathed, “you’ve seriously never done this before?”

“Right hand to god.”

“Well, you’re a natural talent. You should keep doing it.”

“I kinda wanna, um,” Pete started shyly, sitting back on his feet, “I wanna do something a little more-- y’know...”

“Oh ho, say no more,” Malcolm said, pushing himself up and grabbing Pete by the back to the head, pressing their lips together. “Turn around.”

Pete grinned and did as he was told. He felt his shorts pulled down and heard the sound of a drawer opening and shutting, and the squelch as some sort of viscous liquid left a squeeze bottle. He inhaled as he felt a cold wetness on his asshole, and tensed as slender finger pushed through the thick, slipper liquid and inside him. “G-god.”

“Just relax, okay? I’ve done this, like, a ton of times and trust me when I say it can really hurt, like ,super bad if you don’t relax,” Malcolm said as he slid a second finger in to accompany the first.

“Ah-- okay, I’m trying--” Pete bit his lip as he felt himself stretched and loosened. He felt a sudden shock of pleasure, gasped and laughed nervously. “W-what was that?”

“What, seriously? Probably your prostate if it felt good. What, have you never fingered yourself before?”

“N-no--” Pete gasped and giggled again. “I never--”

“I mean, why the hell do you think guys do this?”

“I-I don’t know-- um-- to feel... I guess feel closer to each other--”

“Holy shit, that’s like the gayest thing I’ve ever heard,” Malcolm laughed, pulling his fingers out. He squeezed more of the lubricant out into his hand and rubbed it on his still-hard cock. “I’m going to enter you now... prepare yourself, because I am super good at doing it!”

Pete snorted a laugh, but found himself gasping again as Malcolm pressed his slicked cock forward and into him. “Jesus christ--” he coughed as he instinctively move away from penetration. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Malcolm clamped his hands on his hips to hold him in place, pushing slowly inward, drawing back, and pressing in again. “Goddamn, you are tight! What did I say about relaxing?”

“I-I’m trying--” 

He clicked his tongue and said, “Fine!” He reached around and grabbed Pete’s hard cock and gave it a pull. Pete arms gave out under him, which made Malcolm laugh again. “That’s better, right?”

“Uh-- yeah-- oh--” Pete groaned as he tried to prop himself up again, immediately slipping back down as Malcolm thrust into him harder this time. 

“Dude, your thighs are like, vibrating,” he said, putting his hands back on Pete’s hips. “Here, hold your own dick, would you? I need more leverage to really do my thing.”

Pete nodded and made a strangled, affirmative noise, swallowing the spit gathering in his mouth, doing as he was told, jerking his cock as Malcolm thrust into him. He rolled his hips back into the thrusts. “Holy shit, fella--”

“See? I told you,” Malcolm grunted, leaning down, nipping at his neck. He whispered, “Do you enjoy the awesome power of the butterfly?”

“God, yes--” Pete gasped out. “You’re-- you’re a fucking-- goddamn powerful butterfly--”

“Indeed I am!” 

Pete could feel the pleasure coiling to the breaking point as he frantically fisted his cock, saliva dribbling from his mouth. “God, I think I’m gonna--”

“Seriously? Already?” Malcolm thrust even harder. 

“Y-yeah, I mean, I’m--”

“Then cum! Do as I command!”

Pete made a strangled noise as the tension suddenly released and waves of mind-numbing pleasure rolled through his body and he came on the comforter below him. “God-- oh my god--”

Malcolm thrust into him and held himself there, enjoying the way his body squeezed around his cock and making a strange sound somewhere between a coo and a purr and a repetitive chirp. Pete zoned out as Malcolm continued to fuck him. He wasn’t sure how much longer it lasted, but he whined as he pulled out and came on his back.

Pete fully collapsed as Malcolm let go of his hips. He rolled onto his side, and Malcolm settled down beside him, hands folded behind his head. Pete put a hand on his chest. “That was-- just wow. I mean-- I guess that settles that question--”

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” Malcolm said. “But we can’t let ourselves get distracted from the task at hand!”

“Huh?” he asked, blearily. “What task?”

“Did I fuck you so hard you got amnesia?” Malcolm chuckled. “The Venture situation. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, uh, right,” Pete frowned. “I mean-- you don’t think it’s gonna be weird, now, right? Trying to do... that... when we did this?”

“I mean, I can’t see why it would be,” Malcolm gave him a quizzical look. “Plus, you instigated this whole thing, so...”

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t thinking ahead. I sorta feel like, I dunno... won’t it be weird? If we’re sort of, like, I dunno, doing stuff together and then... the thing with him...”

Malcolm looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about? You could be, like, my number two! We could feed each other’s hatred!” he shouted, shaking his fist.

“Hatred? Wait-- hatred? What are you talking about, fella?”

“Murdering Rusty Venture, of course!” Malcolm shouted. He looked at Pete and quirked one of his wild eyebrows. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Murder! I don’t wanna murder him!” Pete sat up, pulling his shorts back up and scrambling off the bed. “I’ve just got a crush on him! He’s my best friend! I wanna-- I wanna do him!”

“What!? You have a crush on him? You LIKE him?” Malcolm also stood, disgusted look on his face, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That’s not what you said before! You tricked me!”

“How the hell did I trick you? Wha--”

“Oh, I have divined your scheme-- he sent you here to seduce me, didn’t he?”

“Wh--”

“You merely pretended to be interested in supervillainy to send me off course!” Malcolm jammed a finger into Pete’s chest.

“Would you please put some pants on-- you’re making me extremely uncomfortable right now--”

“This dick was just inside you giving you immense pleasure and now you want me to put it away?” Malcolm crossed his arms. “I can’t believe he would stoop so low as to make you listen to my poems about my nefarious aspirations!”

“First of all, Rusty didn’t send me-- I don’t think he even really knows or cares that you’re alive, and-- that poem was about-- supervillainy? How?”

“What else would they be about!?”

“Being-- being gay! Having gay feelings! Having a found family of- of gay people who could lead you by example and help you feel comfortable with yourself! I don’t know!”

“What ‘found family of gay people,’ what?” Malcolm poked him again. “Are you accusing my butterfly family of being gay? I’m not even fully gay-- why would you think it was about being gay?”

“That wasn’t-- like... a metaphor, or something? They’re literally... that was about actual butterflies?”

“Of course they’re about actual butterflies!”

“Well, then why did you have sex with me?”

“I’m not not sort of gay-- and I thought you were also a hot, up-and-coming villain! You asked me to team up and I thought that was just another added perk to it!”

“Okay, you are literally fucking insane, I am outta here.” Pete turned and headed for the door. 

“Wait--” Malcolm called. 

Pete turned. “What?”

“If Venture didn’t send you-- well... we could, uh...” Malcolm gave him a sheepish but somewhat lascivious grin. “I mean, want my number? If you ever wanna give me head again--”

“Goodbye!” Pete shouted, slamming the door behind him. 

He ran into Rusty on the way out of the communal bathroom after cleaning himself up. 

“Hey! There you are! Hey, thanks for ditching me at that party, man,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Ditching you? You ditched me!” Pete scowled.

“I went to the bathroom while you were talking to that weird guy from my English class and next thing I knew, you were gone!” Rusty tipped his head, inquisitively. “Did you like, go somewhere with him?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “Big mistake. He’s fucking crazy. You should avoid him at all costs.”

“Don’t worry,” Rusty replied, “I’m sure as soon as that class is over, I’ll never see him again.”

**Author's Note:**

> My mother always told me it was a skill to be able to amuse yourself. She was trying to be snippy but honestly I took it quite seriously, and that's why I end up writing crap like this.


End file.
